


You can be amazing

by OnlySkyAboveMe



Series: Call me, call me any, anytime [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Babies, Children, Everything Turns Out Fine, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Phone Calls & Telephones, Slice of Life, Starts out as sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 14:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17789102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlySkyAboveMe/pseuds/OnlySkyAboveMe
Summary: More phone callsLife goes on





	You can be amazing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NYdreaming07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NYdreaming07/gifts).



> Some notes/background that I couldn’t work into this fic - but that I discussed in depth with T & T and that I needed in my head to form this properly - can be found below in the end notes.
> 
> Note - this does start out as a child sick fic, and there are mentions of a somewhat traumatic birth and a description of the NICU. However, there is a happy ending here, and I encourage you to read my end notes for more information.
> 
> I'm posting this far too late on a work night, with a less than thorough proof read, so please excuse any errors.

_ 17 September 2024 _

_ Montreal, Quebec _

His mother picks up on the second ring. “Scott?”

“Hi Mom,” he says quietly into the phone, resting his hand next to Tessa’s on the bed, grimacing at the feel of the scratchy sheets on his skin. “Did you get my text?”

“I did. Congratulations, my love. Is Tessa in recovery now?”

“She is, she’s right next to me, though she’s still a bit out of it.”

“And the baby?” she asks.

“She’s in the NICU for now, her stats went a little crazy right before the C-section so they’re just checking her over. But no surprises there, they said they’d take her there to run tests and stuff anyway after she was born.” 

He’s matter-of-fact about it all; they’ve been prepared for this day for several months now, though they hadn’t expected to know precisely which day their daughter would arrive, but the C-section had been booked in last week after the 38-week scan revealed her to be breech and most likely unable to be turned.

“Is Joseph there with you?” he asks, instinctively closing his fingers around Tessa’s as her hand slowly slips into his. “I just thought it would be best to speak to him now, rather than interrupt his bedtime routine later.”

“Yes, he’s here. Let me just get him cleaned up and then I’ll put him on the phone.” 

There’s rustling in the background and Scott can hear his mother having a soft conversation with their son. Tessa lets out a husky sigh and her eyelids quiver. She always looks so tiny when she’s lying in a hospital bed, but even more so now when she’s curled up on her side, the arm that isn’t stretched over towards him clutched into her chest, her abdomen considerably less swollen than it was this morning, their daughter now apart from her in her own hospital bed on another floor entirely. He brushes his thumb across her knuckles, willing her to relax, every inch of her face and body displaying her exhaustion and anxiety, the crease in her forehead betraying her pain and discomfort from the fading epidural and the woozy aftermath of a general anaesthetic.

He hears his son’s soft breathing on the other end of the line and an instant peace fills his heart. Hoping it will help his wife, he puts the call on speakerphone, adjusts the volume and holds the phone out between them.

“Hey buddy,” he says softly.

“Hi Daddy,” comes their son’s response, his voice dropped to an amusing stage whisper, the two-and-a-half-year-old presumably having been told by his grandmother to speak softly and quietly on the phone. Next to him Tessa’s eyelids flutter and a small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. Scott can picture his mother holding the phone to his ear in the kitchen, most probably surrounded by cookies or muffins – cooking and baking being one of her favourite ways to entertain her energetic grandchildren. Though, in Joseph’s case, it helps him come out of his shell a little; his quiet and naturally shy first-born becoming much more open and vocal when his attention is taken by other things like mixing butter and sugar or squishing dough between his fingers. And, biased or not, Joseph’s kitchen creations are the only ones he’ll eat out of anything any of the youngest generation of Moirs make.

“Are you having fun with Grandma?” he asks.

“Yeah!” he shouts happily, clearly having forgotten to be quiet in his excitement to tell his father about his day. “We makin’ boobry muffins!”

“I bet those are yummy?”

“Mmhmm,” his son mumbles, clearly shoving a but of said muffin into his mouth. Tessa’s mouth twitches with the hint of another tired smile, her eyes still closed as she listens to his voice.

“Guess what, buddy?” he asks.

“What, Daddy,” Joseph says with a giggle.

“Your baby sister has arrived, you’re a big brother now.” 

“Baby out of Momma’s tummy?” he asks, sounding unsure.

“She is.”

There’s a pause as his son ponders this.

“You and Momma comin’ home now?” he asks.

Scott’s shoulders drop a little at his question, and he watches in sadness as Tessa tightens her grip on her hospital gown. They’re barely an hour into being parents to two children and he can already feel the guilt of not being able to provide them with equal time and attention weighing on him.

“Not just yet, buddy,” he says gently. “Your sister needs to stay in the hospital for a couple of sleeps, and Momma needs to stay with her. But Grandma and Grandpa will bring you home in a few days and we’ll see you then. Okay?”

“Okay Daddy,” he says, sounding happy enough about that, and Scott feels Tessa relax a little. In the background of the call Scott can hear his father’s boots on the tiled kitchen floor.

“Wotcha doin’ Grampa?” asks Joseph, his voice less clear, he must have turned his head away from the phone.

“I’m going to cut down those raspberry canes in the garden,” Joe explains.

“Snap snap?” asks Joseph. 

His namesake chuckles. “Yes, buddy, with the pruning shears. Do you want to come out and help me?”

“Yeah!” shouts Joseph, and Scott hears the stool scraping on the ground and the sound of his mother calling after his son to come back and say goodbye to his parents. 

There’s a bit of clattering, then his breathless voice rings out loud and clear in the sterile hospital room. “Bye Momma, bye Daddy!” he says, followed by the sound of him blowing a kiss. Scott hears his sneakers squeaking on the kitchen floor and the creak of the back door opening before his mother speaks again.

“You’ll let me know what the consultant says won’t you?”

He takes the call off speakerphone and raises the device back to his ear.

“Of course, Mom,” he says softly, reaching his free hand out to support Tessa as she gingerly and very slowly rolls over onto her other side, leaving his hand on her back until she stills and relaxes again.

“Are  _ you _ okay?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “It’s just…” he pauses, he can feel his eyes burning, but he needs to keep it together right now “...I guess this isn’t how I pictured today, nine months ago.”

“I know.”

“I thought you and Dad, or Kate, would be able to bring Joseph in to meet his little sister right about now.”

“I know,” her voice is quieter now.

“And that we’d take her home straight away.”

“I know,” she whispers.

“And we’d know everything will be okay.”

All he hears is her swallowing wetly, and he does the same. “She will be okay,” she reassures him.

“I know,” he says.

“This will not define her,” her voice is stronger now; determined, powerful.

“I know.”

“She is the luckiest baby girl in the world to have you two as her parents.”

“Thanks Mom,” he whispers.

“Now, let  _ your _ Mom take care of things here, and  _ you _ take care of your girls there. Okay?”

“Okay, thanks Mom. For everything.”

“Of course my darling. Bye love.”

“Bye.” He pockets his phone again, then sits down and begins stroking his fingers through Tessa’s hair.

“I’m going to go to sleep now,” she breathes, already drifting off. “Go and sit with our girl, I don’t want her to be on her own.”

He leans down to press his lips to her temple. “But what about you?” he asks, reluctant to leave her, but desperate to be there for his daughter too.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” her voice is barely a murmur now and a few seconds later her breathing has grown heavy, the hand that was still clutched to her gown loosening before dropping down to the bed.

He kisses her temple once more and quietly tiptoes from the room. He asks the nurse on the desk for directions to the NICU, and requests that someone comes to get him when Tessa wakes again. The elevator to take him the two floors up to his daughter’s hospital bed is mercifully empty, and the moment the doors shut his tears fall. He allows himself these few moments to be overwhelmed until the doors ping and open and he sniffs, wipes his eyes, and exits the elevator to go and meet his daughter.

**

He gazes at her in her crib, sleeping soundly all swaddled up in the hospital-issue blanket, a purple polka dot hat on her head. She seems to have inherited her parent’s ability to sleep where and when needed and he’s glad she is slumbering peacefully in this busy room that’s full of the beeping and whirring of medical equipment. It hurts his heart to see her in this place, but it  _ breaks _ it to see the other residents here. Tiny babies in incubators, and attached to so many tubes and wires that they’re barely visible, babies that have been here for so long their little corners of the ward are decorated for them, cards and toys on every available surface. 

He feels guilty sitting here, watching over his daughter who is a modest 6lbs 8oz - a positive giant amongst her contemporaries in the room - who lies in a regular crib with no external machines or monitors attached, and is, for all intents and purposes, well. She’s not struggling to breathe or fighting infection, she’s just waiting for the paediatric orthopaedic surgeon to come and check her over, run some tests and order some X-Rays, and waiting for her mother’s anaesthesia to wear off fully so she can eat. She’ll be allowed home within a few days.

He knows Tessa will hate it up here, will be devastated to see her daughter in this environment. He may have thought with his heart over his head when they were on the ice, but when it comes to parenting their roles have reversed. He knows this won’t be anywhere near the last time they’re in a hospital with their daughter, but he has come to terms with this and is determined to be a pillar of strength to his family as they embark on this journey. He knows Tessa will do so too, once her hormones settle, once she sees their daughter and finally holds her in her arms.

-

_ “I’m freaking out,” she admits to him as she lies, immobilised in the OR, eyes squeezed shut, her teeth gritted. “I can’t do this.” _

_ “You can do this,” he reassures her, stroking her hair through the surgical cap she’s wearing.  _

_ The nurse comes over then, Tessa’s anxiety clearly displaying itself in her blood pressure stats, and the monitor on the baby beeping loudly. “Tessa?” she asks, coming to stand beside Scott. _

_ “I don’t like this,” she whispers to them both. Her teeth begin to chatter in the cold of the OR, the adrenaline and nervous energy coursing through her body. _

_ “Do you want us to put you under?” the nurse asks. _

_ “They’ll make you leave,” she whimpers to Scott, tears beginning to slide down the sides of her face faster than he can catch them. _

_ “I want what’s best for you and our girl, even if that means waiting in the hall. Okay?” _

_ “Okay,” she breathes, clearly trying to relax but the monitors in the room betray her. _

_ “Do you want them to put you under?” he clarifies. She nods slowly in response, tears of defeat and embarrassment now falling freely. The nurse leaves their side and soon there is a flurry of activity around them. A different nurse comes over to escort Scott out of the operating room, Tessa’s eyes flying open as he stands to leave with a squeeze of her hand, swimming with fearful tears. He does his best to offer her a smile that hides his own fear and anxiety, his eyes not leaving hers as he backs out of the room as a mask is placed over her nose and mouth, eyelids fluttering shut after just a few seconds. _

-

“Mr Moir?” a soft voice and a gentle hand on his shoulder brings him back to the present and he turns his head to see a tall nurse with a clipboard standing next to him. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he says. “I just need to check a couple of things on this little one, and ask you to fill out a few forms. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” he replies, voice a little hoarse. “Please go ahead.” He reaches for the forms and the nurse sets about gently unwrapping his daughter from her blankets. His hand stills after writing the ‘B’ of her first name in the box for the birth certificate, distracted by her stretching her arms and one of her legs in his peripheral vision. He sets the clipboard aside and stands, looking down at his daughter with a smile as she opens her eyes, revealing bright hazel irises, and blinks slowly at him, before yawning and puckering her lips in a sucking motion.

Another nurse comes their way then, telling them both that Tessa is awake and the baby can be permanently moved downstairs to her room now - the consultant will visit them there later on during his rounds, which Scott is delighted to hear. Scott thanks her and he continues to stand over his daughter as the other nurse - Antoine, he would later introduce himself as - finishes filling in his forms and goes to get the necessary items for moving her. 

While he’s gone Scott takes a moment to fully take his daughter in; the brown hair under her hat, her dark eyebrows and eyelashes, her button nose, her ten little fingers and...well maybe not ten little toes as the book might say, but she’s perfect to him, nonetheless. He takes her onesie-clad feet into his hand and presses a kiss to the right one, which is turned away from the other and extended from the ankle like she’s wearing pointe shoes. 

_ She can still be a ballerina _ , he thinks, squeezing her foot gently, heart full of determination,  _ she can be absolutely anything she wants to be _ .

**

Tessa looks up as the door to her room opens and a tall nurse comes in, wheeling an empty crib with Scott following close behind, their daughter cradled in his arms, his pinkie held in her fist. She immediately bursts into tears and Scott quickly makes his way over to her, perching on the bed next to her and nodding his thanks quickly to the nurse as he turns and leaves them in peace. He carefully transfers their daughter into her waiting arms, and she exchanges his pinkie for hers, leaving him free to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

She drops a delicate kiss onto her daughter’s head and begins to arrange herself so she can feed her. Her finger strokes her petal-soft cheek as she brings her to her breast and encourages her to latch on, and in return their daughter opens her eyes to gaze up at her mother, eliciting a quiet sob from Tessa.

“Hi there, Briana Jane,” she says softly, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Momma and Daddy love you so much.”

 

~~~

 

_ 17 September 2031 _

_ Ilderton, Ontario _

The smell of freshly baking bread permeates the kitchen as Alma switches on the radio to the classical music station and settles down at the kitchen table with the previous weekend’s crossword puzzle, taking advantage of her free evening now that her nieces have taken over the day-to-day management of the rink. She’s just considering the spelling of 17 across (‘Greek God of wine, parties and drunkenness’) when she hears her husband’s cane and shuffling footsteps coming from the living room, accompanied by the sound of young, excitable voices.

“Okay, Bree,” he says down the hallway, chuckling. “I’m off to find Grandma right now, I’m not as young and fast as you little rascals.”

Alma’s eyes light up as Joe enters the kitchen, his cane to support his recently replaced knee in one hand and tablet in the other, held up to face her; the gorgeous, smiling faces of her three youngest grandchildren clearly visible on the screen.

“Grandma!” they all cry in unison, leaning in closer to the camera to see her better, small hands waving excitedly.

“Hello my darlings,” she coos, blowing a kiss at the screen, which she then takes from Joe as he carefully manoeuvres himself into one of the dining chairs. She sets the device on its stand and shuffles closer to her husband so they are shoulder to shoulder and both in shot.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” says Joe, “But I think there’s something special about today, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.” He winks at his granddaughter, who giggles.

“It’s Bree’s birthday!” shrieks Miles, slapping his hands on the coffee table the three of them are gathered around.

Joe brings his hand to his forehead and exclaims, “But of course it is! How could I ever forget such a special day?” Briana beams at her grandfather and Alma slips her hand beneath the table to squeeze Joe’s arm, swallowing around the lump in her throat that always forms whenever she thinks about how special each and every birthday Briana celebrates is, even now.

“Happy Birthday, Briana Jane,” she says. “Have you had a good day?”

“It was really fun. Thanks for my card Grandma and Grandpa.”

“You’re welcome, my love,” replies Joe. “We’ll bring your gift with us when we come at the weekend, okay? We haven’t forgotten about it.”

“Okay!” Briana responds brightly. Then her eyes widen in excitement, “Guess what Momma and Daddy got me for my birthday?”

Both Alma and Joe know what her gift was; Scott having been too excited after placing the order to keep it a secret until the big day.

“They got me a sledge!” she cries. “So I can play hockey, on the _ice_!”

“Wow! How exciting Bree.” exclaims Joe.

“Daddy says he’ll take me to Gadbois on Sunday to try it out!” She’s bouncing up and down in excitement, Miles joining in too, smiling up at his older sister.

“Momma says I can’t use my normal hockey stick in the sledge though,” she explains, chewing on her lip.

“But I pointed out that she could break it in half and carve the broken end into a point,” pipes up Joseph, his jade eyes glinting as he gives his grandparents a cheeky grin.

“Daddy says I can borrow some sticks from the club,” she says, looking worried about her older brother’s suggestion.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” says Alma, her eyes flicking over to the carefully wrapped package by the door, containing a pair of child-sized sledge hockey sticks, jet black with her initials etched into them in gold. “I’m so excited for you, Bree.”

“I wasn’t sure I would get a gift this year,” she says quietly, eyes falling to her lap. “Momma and Daddy were kind of mad that I broke my sports blade at soccer a couple of weeks ago.”

“No no,” says Joseph, quickly wrapping his arm around her shoulder in a way that makes Alma’s heart melt just a little. “They were mad at that goalie kid for slide tackling you. That’s definitely against the rules!”

“Really?” she asks, looking unsure.

“Totally,” he reassures her. “Besides, Dad couldn’t stop laughing when you took that penalty kick and your blade flew towards her too. It was hilarious!”

Bree blushes and then smiles as her grandfather hoots with laughter, sounding just like her Daddy does when he’s laughing at Momma’s jokes.

“My new blade arrived on Monday, so you want to see it?” she asks.

“Of course,” say Alma and Joe in unison, watching as their granddaughter rushes off out of shot to fetch it. As her footsteps on the stairs become distant Joseph turns the tablet so that his face fills the screen.

“Where’s Miles gone?” asks Alma, wondering what her most mischievous grandson is up to ( _ there’s something about these youngest Moir children _ , she thinks).

“I think he’s gone off to find Dad in the garage,” says Joseph with a shrug. “Dad normally gives him a plastic screwdriver so her can help ‘fix things’,” he explains, fingers coming up in air quotes.

“Your Dad didn’t tell me Bree had broken her blade,” muses Alma, thinking about how expensive they are and how often they’ll need replacing as Briana grows up.

“It really was funny. The goalie had to jump out of the way as the ball  _ and  _ the blade came flying towards her,” giggles Joseph. “But afterwards, Milo got really upset because he thought that if Bree had broken her leg she would get a cast that he could sign, like the one Shea had last summer when he broke his wrist.” 

Alma brings her hand up to her heart, a lump forming in her throat.

“Mom had to sit him down and explain it all to him. I don’t think he’d ever properly noticed that Bree is different and doesn’t have a real leg.”

Next to her, Joe gulps wetly and she squeezes his arm once more.

“I think Bree felt bad that he got upset, so she asked Aunt Joannie if she could bandage up the leg of his teddy bear so that he could sign that instead. I’m sure he’ll show you it when you come over at the weekend.”

Alma quickly wipes away the stray tears that have fallen down her face and smiles back at Joseph, her heart warmed to hear of the kindness of her grandchildren.

“Why are you crying Grandma?” Joseph asks softly.

“You kids are just so sweet, and it makes me so happy that sometimes I cry,” explains Alma, before composing herself and drying her eyes. “Now, how are you my darling? Have you been to Uncle Eric’s house for your piano lesson this week?”

Joseph’s face lights up at her question and he jumps into a long spiel about all the pieces and scales he’s learning, and how many things he can play from memory instead of having to read the music. Alma and Joe listen intently to their usually shy and reserved grandson chatters animatedly to them, clearly enjoying their undivided attention.

“Did you tell Grandma and Grandpa about the lullaby?” Tessa’s gently voice comes from the background. Joseph blushes a little as he leans back from the screen to reveal his mother sitting on the floor behind him, her back against the couch, smiling at Alma and Joe softly and waving at them. Briana is sitting in her lap, clutching her new leg in her arms; shining black curved carbon fibre blade attached to a sparkly, ice blue socket. She’s buzzing with anticipation and clearly bursting to tell them all about it, but her mother whispers in her ear that it’s Joseph’s turn to speak and so she waits patiently, tracing imaginary constellations in the sparkles. 

“Go on,” Tessa encourages her son. “Tell them about it. It’s really cool.” Joseph raises his shoulders towards his ears and looks down at his lap, his ears going pink too. Tessa’s arm snakes around his waist and pulls him towards her and he sinks down at her side, resting his head against her arm, still reluctant to speak. “Can I tell them about it?” Tessa asks him, quietly. He nods with a small smile.

Tessa turns back to the tablet where her Joe and Alma are patiently waiting, watching lovingly as their (let’s face it, she’s practically been their daughter since she was seven years old) daughter-in-law softly interacts with her children.

“Well,” says Tessa, “When Jose was at Eric and Luis’s the other day, poor little Maria was having a rough time. Colic, I think,” she explains with a grimace, which Alma returns, remembering her own experience with Charlie, and then Tessa and Scott’s months of struggle with Miles.

“And she threw up all over Uncle Luis,” says Joseph, ready now to join in the telling of the story. “So, Uncle Eric had to take her in the middle of my lesson, and she just cried and cried, and Uncle Eric couldn’t teach me. So, I played her that song that Bree and Milo’s rocky chair used to play.”

“How sweet of you, my darling,” says Alma, beaming at her grandson.

“He played Brahms’ Lullaby by ear, he’s never seen the music,” explains Tessa, her eyebrows raised to illustrate her surprise that her nine-year-old is capable of such a thing. “Eric says he’s very talented, which Scott’s taken as a cue to look for a house with a bigger living space, so we can buy a grand piano!” 

She sighs softly and shakes her head at her husband’s eagerness to go the extra mile to provide for his children and help them achieve their dreams and potential. “I pointed out that replacing the electric keyboard with an upright would do for now. But in all seriousness,” she says with a raised eyebrow, “keep a look out for those change of address cards.”

Joe chuckles and then turns to look at his grandson. “Good job, Joseph,” he says. “I’m really proud of you for doing that. Will you play for Grandma and me when we come this weekend?”

Joseph nods, beaming under his grandfather’s loving gaze - his Grandpa Joe is his favourite person in the whole world. Tessa bends down and presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Warning! I come holding a boy in need of a bath!” calls Scott as he enters the room, holding Miles at arm’s length by his ankles, the three-and-a-half-year-old giggling and wearing only his underwear and socks.

“Milo!” shouts Briana, laughing at her younger brother. “Where’s your clothes?”

“ _ Someone _ …” says Scott, jiggling Miles around and causing the small boy to emit a shriek of delight, “…decided to follow Macaroni under the car in the garage to check out his hiding spot.” He turns his son the right way up and sets him down on the floor, unconsciously flaring his arms afterwards (a habit he has that Tessa finds highly amusing; she keeps having to remind him there aren’t nine judges watching to check he’s set his children down with ease and grace) and Miles dashes over to sit next to his mother. 

“Poor cat just wanted some peace and quiet,” Scott mutters, sounding like he doesn’t blame the poor creature. “Who are you talking to?” he asks, gesturing to the tablet on the coffee table as he wanders over as well, pulling his henley over his head, a plain white t-shirt beneath.

“Your parents,” says Tessa, fondly, noticing the dust on the knees of his trousers from when he must have fished his son out from underneath the car and shaking her head, thankful that no part of this house is white anymore.

He bends down to join them all on the floor. “Hi guys,” he says, acknowledging his parents before scooping Miles up and putting him in his own lap, pulling the henley over his son’s head and chuckling as the soft grey cotton swamps his tiny figure. “As you can see, it’s chaotic as always here at Casa Virtue-Moir!”

Alma gazes at the tableau before her; her youngest son and his wife, sitting on the floor of their living room in Montreal, leaning against their brown leather sectional couch with Tessa’s head resting atop Joseph’s where he sits between them, Briana in her lap and Miles in Scott’s. 

On the wall behind the couch are hung many picture frames containing wedding photos, baby photos, first days of school, parties, anniversaries. Their ten Olympic medals are just a blip on the periphery of the montage, the centre photo being a precious candid from the lake this summer; Miles and Joseph building a sandcastle with Scott whilst Tessa helps Briana stand up on her paddleboard a short way out into the water. That wall holds images of time and memories past, punctuated by well-known smiles and familiar eyes, five sets of which warmly gaze upon her and Joe now as they chatter together into the evening.

~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to say that I extensively researched and agonised over Briana’s medical condition and how best to write it. I was very uncertain about writing this part of the story, but very dearly wanted to write something just a little different than other people have about Tessa and Scott’s future family. 
> 
> Children’s full names and birthdays:
> 
> Joseph Irven Virtue-Moir, b.13 January 2022 (Every Moir wept at his Christening by the way.)
> 
> Briana Jane Virtue-Moir, b.17 September 2024 (Often nicknamed Bree. Briana was originally going to be named Bethany, but upon her diagnosis of fibular hemimelia Tessa and Scott chose to name her Briana, which means ‘strong and virtuous’. Fibular hemimelia is a condition in which a person is born without or with a shortened fibula (the calf bone that runs lateral to the tibia/shin bone). The condition can sometimes be treated and corrected with multiple surgeries, but amputation of the limb normally results in fewer surgeries and hospital visits, and quality of life can be better with an artificial limb.)
> 
> Miles Samuel Virtue-Moir, b.6 June 2028 (Called Milo for the majority of his childhood but switched back to Miles as he reached adolescence as he felt it was a more mature and sophisticated name – which was precisely what Tessa had in mind when she insisted his given name be Miles. Miles was a surprise; as they weren’t sure they would be able to have another baby, having put their plans for a third child on hold because of the surgeries Briana would require in her first years of life. Miles ended up being the easiest pregnancy and delivery for Tessa, despite people constantly using the term ‘high-risk’ to describe it because she was 38/39 when she was expecting. Miles, however, suffered terribly from colic as an infant, and the terms ‘terrible twos’ and ‘threenager’ were most certainly designed for him as he grew up.) 
> 
> -
> 
> Their cat, Macaroni, is a rescue cat. When Briana was two, Meagan called them to say that a kitten had recently been brought into the shelter she volunteered at, and that he would be perfect for them. He’s a ginger short haired tabby who was saved when he got stuck in a machine at a factory on the outskirts of town. Scott went over to the shelter to see the cat, leaving Tessa home with the children. He texted her 45 minutes later to say, ‘we’re keeping him’ and came home with the bundle of fur in a carrier. 
> 
> He set the carrier down on the floor in the living room where the children were playing and opened the door, then joined his wife on the couch and watched the kitten’s nose and whiskers emerge, their children lying on their fronts with their chins in their hands, watching intently as the little thing stumbled out of the carrier, their faces lighting up as he made his way towards them inquisitively. Meanwhile, on the couch, Tessa burst into tears and threw her arms around her husband as Joseph scooped up the three-legged kitten and stroked him gently, and taught Briana to do the same. Macaroni and Briana are nearly inseparable. 
> 
> Macaroni was originally called ‘Mac’, because it was a family name. The children, however, decided that it needed to be short for something, and found MacCormack/McCormick to be too boring, and concluded ‘Macaroni’ would be much more suitable. Tessa and Scott were fine with this, until the first time there was a storm and they stood at the back door for 30 minutes calling for him and burst out laughing at the absurdity of his name.


End file.
